HalfBloods and a Better Breed of Man
by paranoia.pink
Summary: Hagrid is angsty, but in a super manly way.


**Title: **Half-bloods and a Better Breed of Man

**Author: **pinkparanoia

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, I promise.

It is the kind of day when no one is outside but you, and you're able to do anything and everything you'd ever wanted. The air is ripe with your own potential and the promise of rain on the horizon. The sky is a bowl, and all that keeps the rain from falling is the fear of going down such a long way. This is how Hagrid feels today, but he doesn't think about it like that. He doesn't need metaphor to understand the world, though he's generously patient with those who do.

Hagrid reaches down, and feels the soil running through his fingers. Aye, and the sprouts are almost ready for repotting. Professor Sprout needs to replant the sprouts soon. Heh! That's a good one, that is. Have to tell that one to Sprout tonight, she'll get a real laugh. These small shrubs though, forget their name, they need to be done by hand. They're tough little things too, and so will need his bigger, stronger hands. Hagrid is happy to help, though. Some things can't be done with magic, and Hagrid likes reaching down into the ground. Nurturing things that will still be there when he's old and gone is so satisfying.

Hagrid doesn't think often of how short his lifespan will be, because why bother with worrying, but he knows his body can't last for long. Dumbledore explained it all once to him, he did. The pressure of his giant blood and strength is too much for his slightly human body. Hagrid doesn't really mind dying though. His father is there already, and right now Hagrid feels strong and whole. He can lift an entire tree over his head (a fact he is privately extremely proud of), he has delivered calves and a litter of puppies into the world, he's planted trees that could outlast Hogwarts – though they won't, magic willing – and he's talked to centaurs and unicorns and everything else magical and special.

A chill of mist reminds Hagrid – he has to patch up his shack just a wee bit if he's going to make the winter comfortably. He goes inside to get his umbrella which he will use discretely to patch up a few of the trickier holes. Dumbledore wouldn't mind, after all. Definitely not. Afterwards, he goes inside for a bag of dog food, looking up at the ceiling with satisfaction.

Every summer he's allowed to take care of the local strays, and takes care of them with the savings from his own salary and from the house elves' leftovers. The dogs are all penned up in a nearby stall every night, and when he takes the food out to them, they all step over each other in a rush to get to the door.

Later that day, after he's done with the shrubbery, he takes the dogs out for a walk. All twenty race forward, yelping a bit. The biggest one is a big German Shepard probably mixed with some cerberus or something, known as Sissy, and it growls as it races forward, jumping on top of other dogs. Hagrid races forward and picks it up before it steps on one of the puppies. Silly little thing. If he didn't know better, he would have thought Sissy was _trying_ to squish the baby. The rag-tag pack races towards the Forbidden Forest, running together through the clammy air, slipping on patches of mud.

They all rest for a minute at the lake, mouths open and panting. Hagrid's cheeks are bright red, and his chest is heaving. To cool him down, the dogs jump on him and lick his face. The puppies duck under his arms during the break and huddle close. They know he won't hurt them, even as big as he is. For a moment the pack sips some water, and then at a moment from Hagrid they all start running again, up and onward.

This is the life. Hagrid thunders up the hill after a small bitch who can't quite keep up. He scoops her up and they race forward, moving to the front even past Sissy. Hagrid lets the girl slip down to the ground as they run and suddenly all the dogs course forward, sprinting for that final stretch back to the pen. Summers for them are the happiest time of the year.

After they are all back in the stall, given water and fresh hay for bedding, Hagrid heads inside for a spot of tea. He wants a dog year-round. Maybe he should ask Dumbledore. Or better yet, since Dumbledore would of course say yes to such a simple request, he should just go get one. A big gentle one to help him out with some of the tougher animals in the forest. The tea is ready, and he pours it out into a relatively tiny little cup. His finger can barely fit into the handle, but he's had it since back before he entered Hogwarts so he can't bear to throw it away. They're all such good creatures, the creatures in the forest, he thinks. But they really don't know their own strengths and poisons and powers and such. Some of them could even be lethal, poor things. So yeah, of course he could use some flanking with the more unintentionally dangerous ones. Might just go into town tomorrow and get some cute little pup. Yeah.

Slumping down in his chair, he falls asleep in his chair, the teacup propped up on his stomach. His knuckles brush the floor and his back will hurt in the morning, but he won't notice. It's not worth it to notice things like that.


End file.
